


Hero of the Hour

by onceuponachildhood



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins, Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening
Genre: Gen, Multi, Other Character Tags to be Added - Freeform, What-If, other relationship tags to be added - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-28
Updated: 2015-05-16
Packaged: 2018-03-19 23:47:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 20,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3628755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onceuponachildhood/pseuds/onceuponachildhood
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A what-if AU. Suppose young Iva Cousland trained for years to be a rogue and archer like her mother. Suppose she trained in politics, in castle-keeping, in everything a dedicated teyrn’s daughter might train. Suppose at sixteen, it’s discovered that she has magic and the templars take her away. What then? | Follows the story of Warden Iva Cousland, rogue and mage and terribly in over her head.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Arc I Part I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first two arcs are more connected drabbles than fully fleshed-out chapters. Arc three and beyond will begin origins proper.

* * *

Fergus’ friend Nathaniel was incredible. Iva perched on a bale at the end of the training yard; straw that had not yet made its way into training dummies, in the shade of the equipment shed, was her favorite hangout as of late. She’d been there so much because Fergus and Nathaniel had been in the training yards so much. Her legs itched where straw had gotten into her skirts. She’d rather wear trousers but of course mother insisted that she wear dresses whilst they had guests in the castle.

Iva pulled a face at the thought of their guests. Arl Howe wasn’t a very nice man; there was nothing wrong with him, of course, but he wasn’t friendly and seemed to think that children asking him for war stories when he’d fought at Bryce Cousland’s side was worse than the actual fighting. Arl Howe’s only daughter, Delilah, was nice enough, but she was twelve, same as Fergus, and five years apart did nothing to endear the girls to friendship. Iva was still in her climbing-into-hay and running-barefoot-through-mud phase, where Delilah had started “hosting” her own tea parties and embroidering. Though those things didn’t sound too awful to Iva, and Delilah was good company, Delilah seemed to think Iva’s own interests were much too childish. Howe’s younger son, Thomas, was only a year older than Iva herself. He was eight, but he was a boring eight. He didn’t like to do much but sit around eating and daydreaming.

Nathaniel Howe, on the other hand, was everything Iva wanted in a friend. He was smart and Fergus thought the world of him. He was thirteen, which obviously meant he was almost a man and Iva furiously denied any sort of burgeoning crush she may have had on him. Most importantly, though, was that Nathaniel was an incredibly skilled archer. She would ask him to give her some pointers, but he was older than even Fergus and maybe a little intimidating. She also thought him handsome, if a bit plain, and even if it wasn’t a crush her stomach still felt weird and fluttery when she thought she might go ask him about archery. So instead, Iva continued to follow them around and appear at the training yards when they went to practice because Fergus and Nathaniel had spent most of their time together showing off their skills.

Nathaniel had just riddled a target with arrows and was laughing about something Fergus had said when one of the stable boys happened by. The stable boy spotted Iva, curled up on the hay, and his mouth curved in a wicked grin. Iva felt dread gather in her stomach. The boy in question, Gavin, was a rotten prankster. She’d accidentally pushed him in the mud, once, and though they’d both gotten over it eventually at the time he’d set it up so she’d had a frog dropped down the front of her dress. They were pranking rivals, now, always at a weird balance of friendship and utter hatred, and he’d spotted her and grinned a grin of impending doom.

Gavin called out as he passed, slowing to see the results of his shouted “Better watch out, my lord Howe. Looks like you’ve got an admirer there.”

All three of them were looking at her now. She had straw in her hair and her skirts, and she knew her face was flushing hotly. For a moment, Fergus’ grin was as wicked as Gavin’s. “Ooh, does wittle Iva have a wittle crush?”

Nathaniel started at that, but Iva barely noticed. She was torn between screaming and crying. Gavin and Fergus were laughing - at her, and oh how she _hated_ to be laughed at. Iva settled for indignant anger, though she could feel tears pricking at her eyes. “I do not!” She said it with such vehemence that the boys only laughed harder. “You shut your blighted mouth, Fergus!”

“Such language,” her brother teased. “Should I tell mother?”

Iva’s brow furrowed. “You do that and I’ll tell mama about Lissie.” Lissie was one of the cook’s girls, sweet and handy in the kitchen. Iva had also stumbled across Fergus kissing her in the larder a month prior.

“You wouldn’t.”

Iva crossed her arms. “If you don’t stop being such a meanie, I will.” She turned her nose up in the air, looking down at Fergus from her perch. “‘Sides, I’m here ‘cause I wanted to see Nathaniel shoot.”

Gavin snickered. “Already at first names, hm? So familiar.”

Iva flushed again, but Fergus didn’t laugh. He sighed, instead. “Of course you are. You’re not gonna learn anything, just watching.”

“Am too! It’s called studying!”

Nathaniel cleared his throat. “She’s trying to learn archery? That’s what this is about?”

“I’m not _trying_ to do anything,” Iva snapped, her bashfulness forgotten in the wake of a jab at her skill. “I know how to handle a bow.” She wanted to be anywhere else. Boys were mean, and rotten, and definitely not worth the time - even if one of them could shoot an apple at 100 paces. She’d rather be having tea with Delilah; at least the cakes were sweet, and if she was going to be made fun of she could be enduring it in the cool confines of the castle. She hopped down from the hay with a smooth motion that mama had taught her, landing gracefully and not hurting her ankles. “You’re an ass, Gavin.” She marched away from the training yards with her head held high, hay and all.

* * *

“Keep your lead foot facing forward, Iva. You’re turning your torso, not your legs.” Iva scowled. Her shoulders burned from holding the bow drawn for so long, and she kept tripping over her own foot. “Let your other foot turn. Think of your dancing lessons.” Her dancing lessons. Right. Iva straightened her shoulders, ignoring the discomfort, and paced around the dummy. “Yes, that’s much better. Good job, sweetheart. Release.”

Iva relaxed her arm slowly, returning the string to its resting point before lowering the weapon. “Thank you, mama.”

Eleanor tugged her daughter forward to press a kiss to her hair, and Iva beamed. “You’re doing quite well, sweetheart. Do your stretches, and then you can shoot for a bit.”

Iva retied her skirts about her waist. The wind felt good against her legs, even trapped in trousers. Training in a dress felt good, though; Iva knew as she grew older than she’d have to wear pretty ladylike things, like her mother did, and it was nice to know that she’d still know how to fight in them. Still easier to wear leathers, of course, but Iva was a Cousland and she would do her duty. Even if duty meant being a lady and wearing dresses and not sneaking off to hide in the hay or shoot at targets.

She’d just picked her bow back up when there was a cough from the edge of the yard. Iva whipped around; Nathaniel was standing there. “Forgive my intrusion, Lady Cousland, Lady Iva.”

“Nathaniel, please.” Eleanor’s smile was soft. “Call me Eleanor. Goodness knows you and Fergus are close enough to permit such familiarity.”

He nodded. “Right. Thank you, Lady Eleanor.” He shifted from foot to foot. “I did not realize anyone would be here. Fergus said I was welcome to the training yard any time I like.”

Iva felt a little flash of panic, because she knew exactly what her mother was going to say. “Of course you’re welcome.” Yes, exactly that. “In fact, I would be honored if you would be so kind as to give Iva a few pointers. Fergus tells me that you’re an accomplished archer.”

Nathaniel nodded. “That is kind of you to say, Lady Eleanor. I would be glad to work with Lady Iva.” Satisfied, the lady stepped back and leaned herself against the fence.

Iva fought the urge to wrinkle her nose. She would be gracious. She was a Cousland. “My thanks, Lord Nathaniel.”

He snorted. “Let me see what you can do, and we’ll go from there.”

It wasn’t long before “a few pointers” delved into unofficial archery contests and quite a bit of running while reviewing the motions of firing. After enough practice that even her head ached, and the sun was starting to dip below the horizon, Nathaniel called for a halt. At some point her mother had left, but in her place there was a tray with cool lemon water and some bread. The two of them gratefully sank down to the ground and rested. Iva herself tipped her head back to lean against the fence.

After a few moments, Nathaniel spoke. “You are better than I was expecting. How long have you been practicing?”

“Two years,” she said. “My first bow was a nameday gift.” She closed her eyes and enjoyed the coolness of the stone beneath her.

Nathaniel set his water cup down. The stone clinked against the tray. “And Lady Eleanor already has you working on forms while moving.”

“I told her I was ready,” Iva said simply.

“I don’t doubt you are.” Iva turned her head and peered at the Howe, but he’d taken a page out of her book. He looked relaxed against the fence, eyes closed and cheeks red from exertion. “I would like to practice with you again, Lady Iva.”

“Nathaniel.” He cracked an eye open. “If we’re going to be practicing together it’s silly to keep all these titles up. And you don’t call Fergus ‘Lord Fergus’.”

“Fergus is my friend,” Nathaniel said. Before her heart could fully break, he added, “I suppose that means just calling you Iva will be appropriate after all.” He smiled at her - really smiled, bright and sunny and beautiful. Iva smiled back. Friends. She could live with that.


	2. Arc I Part II

* * *

Iva bounced impatiently by the door to the stables. Rory was almost done with his duties for the day, she knew it, and he was one of the only people who didn’t groan and flee on sight when she turned up with her bow. She liked showing off a little, so what? She was eight. She could show off her archery skills if she wanted to. Rory was one of the best - even if he was bored silly, he never acted it, and it was because he was genuinely nice and not just because she was the Teyrn’s daughter. Those people never really looked happy to see her or her bow.

She’d wait for Rory to get done, and she’d drag him off to the yards to see her shoot. Her bow and quiver were strapped to her back, and she held a basket with bread and cheese and Rory’s favorite pastries. If she was gonna drag him off to watch her shoot before he’d even had time to eat a bit, she’d bring food for him. Besides, he was nice. Probably her second-best friend in the world. Maybe third, since she’d started spending more time with Delilah. But still a very dear friend.

The stable door swung open and Rory stepped out, smile spreading wide when he spotted her. “My lady Iva,” he said warmly. “Do you have a new trick you want to show me?”

She did, in fact, and the fact that Rory noticed her bow before he noticed her basket was quickly cementing him into first place in the best friend race. “I do,” she answered. “And I brought apple pastries.” He looked down at the basket, then, and his stomach growled. She didn’t give him the time to be embarrassed, instead grabbing his wrist and leading him to the archery targets.

Once he was settled on a log with the basket open and a jug of water, Iva bounded over to the targets. “Are you ready to see this, Rory? I haven’t even shown mama yet!”

“Haven’t shown Teyrna Cousland what?” he asked.

She grinned. “You’ll see.” She turned away, enough to face the dummy set up at the end of the field, and her expression _changed_. Her smile fell away, the pleased glint of her eyes was replaced by something harder, her brow furrowed. It was like she’d aged right before his eyes. Iva faced her target head-on and without hesitation she began walking toward the dummy, firing arrows. She sank arrows in its gut, its chest, her arms never wavering as she stalked forward. By time she was a stone’s throw away, the dummy had ten arrows in painful if not vital spots. She looked over the arrow placements before turning toward Rory with a proud look.”So, what do you think?”

She was his friend, and tiny, and she had thoroughly decimated that dummy. She still had that strange, proud look in her eyes. “I think that’s magnificent, my lady,” he said.

Iva giggled and bounced over, suddenly eight again. “I think so too,” she declared. She grabbed a pastry and plopped down beside him.

* * *

She was far more nervous when her mother arrived for her lesson. Eleanor smiled when she noticed Iva’s fidgeting. “I saw young Roland earlier. He looked rather awed by something.” Her smile grew at the blush on Iva’s cheeks. “You wouldn't happen to know anything about that would you?”

“I might’ve showed him something new with my bow.”

“Something new with your bow?” Iva knew mama knew she had something special to show off. “Is this something I’ve seen?”

“... no.”

Eleanor clapped her hands together. “It’s not? That’s wonderful. Let me see it.”

What had seemed like some accomplishment felt less so, faced with what her mother had done during the occupation. Iva scuffed her toes along the stone while she waited for her mother to get comfortable against the fence. She turned and faced the target; with an exhale, she pretended that her mother wasn’t there, that she wasn’t at Castle Cousland facing down a dummy. It was just her and the enemy, like mama’d told her it was like in battle. She stalked forward and fired, and even her nerves were gone, replaced by a solid thrill of satisfaction when each arrow found its mark. Only one went astray, and the other nine would have crippled a real enemy. When she was done she turned toward her mother, expecting her criticisms for the missed arrow or her pacing. Something she knew she’d done wrong.

Her mother’s expression was… unreadable. It almost looked like she had tears in her eyes, but Iva was too far away to tell. “Mama?”

“You’ve been practicing this by yourself?”

Iva nodded. “I’ve been trying. Just me and my target, just like you told me.”

Her mother started toward her and Iva met her halfway, only to freeze when her mother embraced her. “Mama?” she asked again, voice muffled by her mother’s shoulder. “Is something wrong?”

“No,” Eleanor replied, though her arms tightened just a little around Iva. “I’m just proud of you, dear. You’re doing so well.” Iva hugged her mother back, still confused. “You’re growing up so fast.”

“I can’t stop it, mama.” That explained it, at least to Iva. Mama was just being a mother.

Eleanor chuckled. “I know, dear.” She let Iva go with a pat to the cheek. “That doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

* * *

The Howes were coming to visit. Iva could absolutely put up with being forced to wear a dress as long as it meant she’d get to see her friends. Delilah had promised her a horseback ride and picnic on her family’s land, with tea and sweet cakes and probably some giggly girl talk. And Nathaniel - well, despite the heat Iva had already pulled on trousers under her skirts so that they wouldn’t have to delay getting to the training yards any further.

She bounced in place as she waited, to her mother’s obvious exasperation. Fergus smirked. “Well well, you’re excited.”

Iva was almost nine, and could behave quite like a proper lady if she wanted, but she still stuck her tongue out at her brother when Eleanor turned her head. “Delilah was too sick to come last time,” she reminded him. And then, because it was true, and because Fergus would tease her worse if she didn’t mention it, she added, “and Nathaniel owes me a rematch.”

“Ah, yes,” he drawled. “How could I forget about your crushing defeat-”

“Gavin dropped a bucket!”

Bryce chuckled. “Calm down, pup.”

“But papa, they cheated.”

He raised an eyebrow at the children. Fergus held hands up in surrender. “To be fair, Nate had nothing to do with it. He had no idea.” Fergus laughed. “It nearly scared the pants off him, too.”

“You’re absolutely rotten, Fergus.” Iva scowled. “There’d better be no buckets this time. Or frogs, or mud, or any other devious and mean things you can come up with.”

Fergus stuck his tongue out at her, but he wasn’t quick enough to avoid Eleanor’s attention. Iva tuned out her mother’s admonitions about behavior and resumed her impatient bouncing. The Howe family would arrive soon.

The Howes did arrive shortly, in fact, and they were welcomed warmly into Castle Cousland. Iva curtsied prettily for Arl Howe and his children, and her mother’s approving smile was worth holding back her own enthusiasm. Iva was glad when she approached Delilah with arms outstretched for a friendly hug, and more glad when Delilah accepted the slight breach in decorum and hugged back.

“I’ve been looking forward to our ride for weeks,” Delilah said warmly.

Iva grinned. “Me too. I know the most beautiful grove we can picnic in.” She dropped her voice a little. Her whisper was almost conspiratory. “I could always ask Fergus to accompany us instead of mama, if you’d like.”

Delilah blushed in the most pretty way; Iva giggled and her friend did too. “I should have never admitted that crush. You are the absolute worst, Iva Cousland.”

“I try.” She stepped back and snagged Delilah’s arm. “I told mama I would show you to your rooms, my lady.”

More giggles. “Of course! Lead on, my lady.”

Iva made sure to shoot Nathaniel a grin before she tugged Delilah away

* * *

Iva was tying her skirts when Nathaniel made it to the training yard. It was almost dawn, so it was still cool enough to be exerting themselves. Iva especially had to avoid the heat, with her mother’s insistence that she only wear dresses when they had guests.

Nathaniel raised an eyebrow at her. “I’ll be honest, I didn’t expect you to be up this early. Fergus definitely isn’t a morning person.”

“I’m not Fergus,” Iva replied, still fiddling with the fabric.

“No, you’re not.” There was something weird in his voice, something unknown. Iva finally got her skirts to cooperate and she turned to look at him. He looked away, focusing on his bow with a strange sort of intensity.

Iva shook her head. Boys were strange. “Right. I’ve started firing when walking. I think by summer’s end I’ll be ready for running shots.”

“You’ll have to work for it,” Nathaniel said.

“I’m ready to.” She grinned and lined up her first shot.


	3. Arc I Part III

* * *

Bryce settled his hand on his youngest’s shoulder. “Are you sure about this, pup? It’s not too late for me to ask Fergus to come along instead.”

Iva, who’d wheedled her mother for weeks to get permission, shook her head. “I’m fine, papa. I’ll be good - better than good. I will be a perfectly poised princess.”

“You’re always my little princess, pup.” But he lifted his hand and moved over to speak with Eleanor. Iva could hardly contain her excitement, though she kept the bouncing to a minimum, lest her mother see and make her stay home after all.

Her father traveled through the teyrnir once every few months, to meet with the nobles and to hear their concerns as liege lord. Usually, he took Fergus with him to see how the teyrnir was managed, and so that he would have at least some of his family along. This time, he’d suggested letting Iva see how things were done. A side effect of her blossoming friendship with Delilah Howe was that Iva had taken at least some interest in wearing dresses and acting like a proper lady, and maybe Bryce wanted to take advantage of that while she was still willing to curtsy and sit quietly by his side. Besides, it gave Fergus a chance to see what being the lord of the castle was like, without his father around.

* * *

Carriage rides were long, and boring, and generally reserved for ladies and children, or the softest of nobles. As both a lady and a child, Iva would have been expected to ride in a carriage. Yet her papa had actually capitulated when she’d insisted that she ride on horseback like him and his men. A carriage was still brought along, of course, where their luggage was stored. It would be a little over two weeks for them to ride out to West Hill, then across the terynir to Amaranthine, then back to Highever. They would be checking on the Banns and Arl Howe, of course, and the Arl of Amaranthine had invited them to stay a couple of days before they headed back home.

She wasn’t accustomed to riding for so long, but she tried to ride at least a little every day at home and so it didn’t hurt as much as it could have. Her family’s guards already knew about her rather tomboyish interests, but she could still catch the impressed looks when they thought she wasn’t looking. It was nice to know that her father’s men thought well of her; she valued the opinion of those that served her father, not just because they served her by extension. It was also nice riding alongside her papa and listening to him talk about the teyrnir, about the banns, about the trade and the crops and such. He talked to her like he would talk to Fergus, she supposed, and she’d paid enough attention in her lessons that she knew when to ask questions. The  freedom of it was the best part, Iva decided. No carriage roof blocking out the wide-open sky, no skirts to get tangled up in the stirrups. She was riding along as if she were the heir, not as a second child or even a daughter.

“Papa, does Fergus really get to do this every time?” She gestured to her spot in the procession, at the sky and the open fields, while keeping a hand firmly on the reins. Her bow shifted on her back with her movement.

Bryce chuckled. “Yes, pup. Though at your age Fergus had to ride in the carriage for part of the journey.”

“He _did_?” Her grin was impish; this was a whole new level of fodder to tease her sibling whenever he teased her. “But I haven’t!”

Her enthusiasm was contagious, and her father smiled. “You haven’t complained nearly as much as he did. But I think that’s enough of that, lest your brother find out I told you all this.”

* * *

When she spun around in a circle, Iva’s skirts flew up and floated about her legs. The green was beautiful and bright, like her eyes, and she spun around again in front of the mirror to admire how pretty it looked.

Her mother laughed. ‘You know, I’ve never seen you this excited about a dress before.”

“It’s beautiful,” Iva said, as if that explained everything. “I look like a princess.”

Her mother waggled a finger in mock admonition. “Now if only you would _behave_ like a princess.”

“Mama, I always behave like a princess.” Iva fluttered her eyelashes at her mother before returning her attention to the mirror. “It’s just… Delilah likes all this stuff. Dresses and shoes and parties. The way she talks about it makes it sound pretty okay.” Eleanor probably owed the girl quite a bit of gratitude. “And it’s nice to look pretty, you know?”

Iva was looking at the mirror, again, but Eleanor was looking at her daughter. Iva had her hair half-pinned, so that it cascaded in layers down her back. Her eyes were as green as her dress, and they stood out both in contrast to her pale skin and her black hair. Iva wore no jewelry, no ornamentation, beyond the golden pin that held her hair just so. She turned to face her mother, cheeks rosy with excitement. “You look beautiful, darling.”

“Thank you, mama.” Iva curtsied, flapping her skirts a little extra because they were floaty and it was fun. “Let’s go greet our guests!”

The dinner party had been Eleanor’s idea, of course, but out of respect for her daughter she kept it small. It was just the Cousland family and two of the Howe children - Delilah and Nathaniel, of course. Bigger parties could be held later, for other events, or for when Iva began stepping up to her role as a Teyrn’s only daughter. For now, a celebration could be just that.

The children were seated together, Fergus and Nathaniel side-by-side and Iva and Delilah the same. The only friend of Iva’s that was missing was Rory, and that was because he was out on patrol with one of the guardsmen. Still, dinner was joyous enough with the four children. It was just as everyone seemed to be finishing up their meal that Delilah produced a wrapped package from under her seat. “My Lady Cousland,” Delilah began seriously, though she was grinning. “May I present to you a nameday gift from our family?”

“My Lady Howe,” somehow, through her giggles, Iva managed to sound serious. “I accept this gift with the greatest of thanks.”

“Girls, honestly.” But Eleanor was smiling too, despite her exasperated tone.

“Go on, unwrap it!”

What Iva unwrapped turned out to be a beautiful polished rosewood box, inlaid with jade swirls and flowers. “Oh, this is…” Iva ran her fingertips lightly over the lid. “It’s beautiful.”

Delilah smiled knowingly. “Open the box, silly.”

Iva did. Nestled inside, on green velvet so dark it was nearly black, were a brush and mirror made of the same rosewood, with the same jade inlays. It was clearly a gift with a feminine touch and an eye for beauty, but it also spoke of foreknowledge of Iva’s vanity with her hair, and Iva’s heart swelled with love for her friend. “This is a most beautiful gift,” she intoned seriously. Iva settled it in her lap to reach over and squeeze her friend’s hand. “I thank you, Lady Delilah, and the Howe family, for such a magnificent treasure.”

Delilah squeezed back.

* * *

“I’m sure you know that your nameday gift from our family was really just a gift from Delilah.” Iva cracked an eye open and looked over at Nathaniel. She’d sprawled out after she’d finished stretching, enjoying the cool stone against her heated skin.

Now, she snorted. “It was a pretty girly gift.”

“I wanted you to know that it was a gift from Delilah, not a gift from all of us.”

It didn’t sting. Iva didn’t glare at him from the ground. “Right.”

Something in her tone must have given away her inner distress, because he explained. “I wanted you to know that because I got you a gift from me.”

Oh. “You did?” Iva sat up.

“I did.” He pulled something from his pocket, something small enough that he could hide it in his hand. “Close your eyes.”

“What for?”

“It’s a surprise.”

She raised an eyebrow at him, but did as he asked and closed her eyes. She sat very still, only jumping a little when his fingertips brushed along the nape of her neck. He murmured an apology. Something heavy settled on her sternum. Nathaniel stepped away. When he told her to open her eyes, she immediately looked down.

A pendant, shaped like a teardrop and encased in delicate gold webbing, rested on the fabric of her dress. Iva lifted it with the golden chain it hung from, and the color seemed to flicker through it. Red to green to red, it shifted as she tilted it this way and that. “It’s called Alexandrite,” Nathaniel explained.

“It’s beautiful,” Iva managed. She couldn’t stop looking at the stone; it was prettier than anything she’d ever seen before.

“I thought you might like it.”

Iva was off the ground faster than he could have expected, and she wrapped her arms around him in a tight hug. “I love it. Thank you, Nathaniel.”


	4. Arc I Part IV

* * *

“Stop stealing him away.”

Iva glanced over at her brother. “What’s this about then?”

“Nathaniel.” Fergus would be more threatening if his voice didn’t keep cracking. Her brother was not an impressive fifteen-year-old. “Every time he visits you drag him off to the training yards and the two of you shoot everything.”

Iva snickered. “Not my fault you went sword and board, brother.”

“I’m a warrior!”

“You ‘followed in your father’s noble footsteps, in the ancient line of mighty Cousland warriors,’ so I hear every time I go to the study.” Iva knew from experience that her Aldous impression was spot-on, and it certainly worked its charm of soothing Fergus’ anger. At ten, Iva was uncannily good at soothing ruffled feathers - usually, feathers she herself had ruffled.

Fergus sighed, then reached out to muss Iva’s hair. She flinched away and tried in vain to smooth out the mess. “Just, lay off next time, alright? I think his father plans on sending him away to train soon, and I’d like to actually speak to him before he’s made to go.” Fergus grinned. “I know you’re gonna miss your boyfriend and all-”

“Fergus!” she shrieked, and launched herself at him. He dodged out of the way and ran.

She chased him through the hallways, both of them laughing and yelling. They dodged around Nan, around guards, around servants. Fergus ran out to the training yards, and Iva knew she had him then. She gave a final push and tackled him into the hay. “Get off me!” He pushed against her, trying to find a way out.

“I won’t! I know your greatest weakness!” Fergus was extremely ticklish on his sides. And as he only wore armor when training (as opposed to Iva who wore her leathers any time she could get away with it) his flank was unprotected. “Fear the wrath of the dread Iva Cousland!” Fergus’ laughter at her dramatics turned to wheezing and shrieks as she mercilessly tickled his ribs.

In retaliation, he grabbed a fistful of straw and ground it into her braid. “Oh, no, my lovely lovely hair!” His falsetto was actually not half-bad, but as it was her that Fergus was mocking, she wasn’t going to applaud him.

Iva saw red. “Andraste’s flaming-”

“I should have known I’d find you two here.”

“Nathaniel!” The siblings’ voices blended into one. Iva jerked away from her brother and tumbled out of the hay. Fergus couldn’t make fun of her, not when he’d scrambled out of the pile and called out for the Howe as quickly as she had.

Nathaniel huffed. “You’re ridiculous, both of you.”

They were both a mess, more like. Iva could feel the straw poking her scalp, and Fergus looked more like he was wearing hay than having wrestled in it. Iva looked back over at Nathaniel, and his expression was so somber that she felt a pain in her chest.

Fergus left out a soft sigh. “You’re leaving. Your dad’s sending you away.”

“From Highever port, in three days. Teyrn Cousland has graciously allowed me to stay here for that time.”

Iva looked at both boys, their expressions serious. Three days wasn’t much time to spend with a friend you might not see for years. She swallowed and slipped away; Fergus would appreciate the time alone with his best friend.

* * *

“You’ve been skipping your training.” Nathaniel’s voice broke her concentration, but Iva still moved through her forms until she was done. Iva got her breathing under control and turned to look at him. “You’ve been leaving early from meals. You’re avoiding me.”

Iva frowned. “I though Fergus deserved some uninterrupted time with his best friend.” It was only half a lie, after all. She had wanted Fergus to get time with Nathaniel before he left. But she’d also been avoiding him because she was gonna miss him and she didn’t want to deal with the hurt. She looked down at her boots, instead. Her boots weren’t leaving in a few hours.

“What about _your_ best friend?”

Her nose wrinkled at the knowing in his tone. He was only sixteen, he shouldn’t sound so pensive. “I’m not Fergus.”

“No, you’re not.” She didn’t look up but suddenly there was Nathaniel and he was hugging her. It was an automatic reflex to hug people back - not that Iva minded wrapping her arms around Nathaniel, but it wasn’t what she’d planned when she’d gotten up before dawn and crept out to the training yards. He was leaving and she’d been an absolutely selfish ass for avoiding him. She pressed her face to his chest so that she wouldn’t cry and his chin rested on her scalp.

“You’re too tall,” she muttered, and she could hear his laugh rumble in his chest before it came out.

He pressed a kiss to the crown of her head, like Fergus might, as if just to prove that he could. “You’ll get taller. Eventually. Maybe.”

After a moment or two of quiet they broke apart and Iva really didn’t feel like practicing anymore. “I think I’m gonna go for a walk on the battlements,” she said. “The sunrise is really pretty from up there.”

“You know, I don’t think I’ve seen the sunrise from the battlements of Castle Cousland.”

Iva swallowed. He was leaving. Her training partner was leaving. Her best friend was leaving. He was leaving, and nobody knew for how long. Iva grabbed his wrist and started leading him toward the door. “Right. We’ll just have to fix that.”

* * *

“Mama, you know how you told me that one day, I’d have to learn all there is about being a proper lady in a castle?”

Eleanor looked up from her embroidery. Iva hadn’t, picture of the dutiful daughter she was all bent over her work, though she did peek up at her mother through her lashes. With a head shake, her mother went back to her needlework. “Yes, sweetheart.”

“And,” Iva was still bent over her work, but her legs swung back and forth where they hung over the edge of the chair. “That I’d have to learn to to read people and convince them, make them see what I want them to see?”

“Yes.”

Iva finally put down her work, but she didn’t look up at her mother. “Do you think I could start learning that stuff?”

Her mother let out a soft laugh. “Oh Iva, is that all? You look like you’re about to ask me to storm the castle or something. You’re still a little young, though; you’ve not even reached your eleventh nameday.” Iva bit her lip. “What brought this on, sweetheart?”

“Nothing!” Iva replied, just a little too quickly.

A single raised eyebrow was the only reply to that.

With a long, gusty sigh, Iva scowled at her mother. “You’ve been trying to get me to be all ladylike and stuff for years. And now that I’m agreeing, you don’t want to teach me?”

“It’s not like that.” Her mother let out a sigh of her own. “Sweetheart, you’ve been fighting all of this lady stuff tooth and nail since you were five. I know you tolerate the social side of it for Delilah’s sake, but being a lady and managing a castle is more than just wearing dresses and knowing how to smile prettily for people you don’t like.”

Iva frowned. “I have to learn it either way, don’t I?” When her mother didn’t answer, she said “Mama, I’m ready. I don’t want to do it - you’re right about that - but it’s my duty as a Cousland.”

Her mother got up and moved to Iva’s side, kneeling so she could look her daughter in the eye. “I don’t know what’s gotten in to you recently, but you’re right. We’ll start your lessons on the morrow. Wear a proper dress,” she added, poking a finger at the knee of Iva’s trousers.

Iva leaned forward to put her arms around her mother’s neck, embroidery forgotten in her lap. “Thank you, mama.”

* * *

Iva threw herself into learning all there was to being a lady with enough fervor to surprise even herself. She wasn’t too sure herself where the sudden desire had come from. Fergus was clearly to inherit their father’s land and title. Iva herself could be a lady of some castle somewhere, if she wanted - her mama and papa had made it quite clear that both their children would choose their own marriages, in time - but somehow she didn’t see herself settling down with some nice Bann somewhere. It wasn’t just that she was a Cousland, and a Teyrn’s daughter, though her pride in her family did have a little to do with it.

In private, in her own quiet moments, Iva imagined marrying someone as active and adventurous as she. Land and titles didn’t matter to her, and she would adjust to living without if she found someone worth making that adjustment for. Being a lady of a castle meant giving up long horseback rides in her leathers and learning how to do less savory things like picking locks or felling game with her bow. Perhaps she could find a lord who would appreciate and even enjoy that side of her. Perhaps she would settle down with some obscure knight and travel the countryside with them, fighting bandits and living every moment.

Until then, she would at least learn what she was meant to learn.


	5. Arc I Part V

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning for a little blood/injury

* * *

One of her favorite things about rogue training was not what her mother taught her. Iva learned from a couple different trainers, over the years, but at thirteen she had a favorite. Master Ryan was a harsh taskmaster, a retired shadow specialist who had volunteered his services to the Cousland family after Fergus had saved the man’s daughter on a patrol. He was sharp and hard and strict - and Iva loved it. Her mother had been a great teacher, but soft and kind. She asked no more than she thought Iva could give.

Master Ryan didn’t ask her to give more than he thought Iva could give. He demanded that Iva give more than _she_ thought she could give - disappear into the shadows in broad daylight, pick this lock after holding her hands in icewater, scale that building without climbing tools - and when she did it, he’d pat her head once and tell her good girl.

He had her practicing something new when _it_ happened.

Iva spent much of her time in the forests the Couslands owned. She was pretty good at climbing trees before Master Ryan came along, and could even fire her bow from a branch. He told her one day he’d have her shooting hanging upside-down from branches, and she couldn’t wait to try. For now, however, he had her leaping from tree to tree.

“You never know what your enemies might or might not be able to do, but you will always know what you are able to do,” he’d said. “So do this.” She hadn’t even bothered protesting; Maker knows her mother would have, if she’d known, but Iva knew that Master Ryan hadn’t steered her wrong.

Master Ryan called up to her from his shady spot. “You must be able to judge the branch without testing it, judge the distance without crossing it, judge your push without jumping it. You must decide if you should jump, rather than if you can.”

Iva found a suitable-looking branch in the next tree; more than obviously able to support her. Caution wouldn’t be looked down upon, though. Master Ryan expected her to balance bravery and recklessness as well as she now balanced herself atop a branch. She bounced a little on her current perch, to make sure it could handle the force of her jump, and then she hunkered down and pushed off.

Her landing was a little graceless, sure, and she scraped her fingers on the bark, but she turned and waved cheekily at Master Ryan. “Very good. Again.”

She landed better in the next tree than she did in the first. “Again.” She launched herself into the next tree and ignored the bark against her face when she landed too close to the trunk. “Again.” A jump. “Again.” Another jump. “Again.” He was following her, footsteps silent on the forest floor, as she flung herself from tree to tree. “Again.” She scowled, growing tired, and jumped.

She missed.

She scrabbled for purchase on the tree as she fell, and it slowed her down, but she wasn’t able to get a grip before she plummeted to the forest floor. She remembered what her mama had taught her, what Master Ryan had taught her, and she tried to land as smoothly as possible. There was a crack, and intense pain, but she still rolled to break the impact. When she came to a stop Master Ryan was hovering over her, brow furrowed, and her hands were gripping her leg. He poked at the visible bone - Iva hissed and swallowed, trying her hardest not to vomit. He had to set it, she knew he had to set it. She dug her dagger out and bit down on the hilt, nodding at her trainer.

It hurt so much that she felt light-headed. She knew she wasn’t supposed to touch it but something in Iva called out for her to press her hands to it. She did. The pain began to fade. Master Ryan watched her with even more serious of an expression than usual. Iva looked down from her trainer to the slowly disappearing wound. Her hands glowed faintly.

Oh.

When all the pain was gone Iva let her hands slide away. They dropped to her sides with soft thuds. “I don’t think you can train me in that, Master Ryan.” She still felt weak and queasy. She had healed herself. She was a mage.

He chuckled, a strange so sound coming from him that Iva was almost sure she’d passed out. He patted her head. “Good girl.” He stood abruptly and offered her a hand. “Don’t tell anyone about this,” he cautioned. “You have gotten good at hiding, but let us not give you a real test yet.”

“Master Ryan?”

“I cannot train you, but I know someone who can.” He regarded her for a moment, and she stood straight and unflinching under the scrutiny. “I would not wish to lose such a good pupil to the templars.” He started back towards the castle, and she trailed behind, legs unsteady but altogether whole. “We will continue our training as usual tomorrow.”

“Of course, Master Ryan.”

* * *

It was a week before he suggested they train in the trees again, and when they got to the forest there was already someone waiting for them. An older woman, maybe a few years younger than Iva’s mother, stepped out to greet them. “This is my younger sister,” Master Ryan explained. “She will teach you twice a week. I don’t expect you to slack off on your training with me, however.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

His sister laughed, soft and warm. Iva liked her immediately. “Come, Iva. My name is Emma, and I suspect we have a lot to cover today.” Her hand was comforting when she patted Iva’s shoulder. “I’ll teach you how to hide it, first, so that you can be safe. Then, I’ll teach you how to use it,” her smile quirked a bit, from inviting to something… else, something that definitely made her look related to Master Ryan, “so that you can be _dangerous_.”

Iva wanted to protest that she wasn’t dangerous, that she was just thirteen and full of drive. But she could fire a bow while running, she could sink an arrow into someone’s throat before she could finish putting on her dress for tea. “Dangerous,” she repeated. “I think I can manage that.”


	6. Arc I Part VI

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning for the fade and also bodies

* * *

A side effect of learning how to control her magic and keep it hidden was that suddenly Iva was as paranoid as Master Ryan. Emma told her not to practice in the castle; not only did she risk discovery, she could also hurt someone if something went awry. Iva saw the faces of her family and friends in her dreams - broken, bleeding, while Iva could do nothing for them. Worse still were the dreams where they actively ran from her, shouting mage and abomination to the skies.

It was enough to make any child uneasy, and Iva was just as paranoid in her sleep as she was whilst awake.

Iva was in the Fade. As Emma trained her, she started to remember her dreams more and more upon waking, and she began to recognize the place she went every night as that landscape of dreams. This particular night, she was standing on the battlements of a castle long gone. There were bodies in the courtyard, though far enough away that she couldn’t clearly see them. Off in the distance she could see no landmarks; a dense fog surrounded the castle. It was only when she turned that she realized she wasn’t alone. Nathaniel stood beside her, and Iva fought to keep her breathing even. She hadn’t seen Nathaniel in years. He wasn't here, couldn't be here. She was dreaming. This had to be a demon.

“You’re right,” it murmured, answering her thought. “Though demon is such a nasty word to use, don’t you think?”

Iva didn’t shy away, but she crossed her arms. “Call a horse a horse; call a bow a bow. Call a demon a demon.”

“Have it your way.” It was still wearing Nathaniel’s face, still speaking with Nathaniel’s voice. It made Iva a little sad, and more than a little longing, which she figured was what the demon wanted.

She shook her head. Whatever it wanted, she wasn’t buying. “Make your offer so that I can refuse or begone.”

It chuckled and paced around behind her, sliding a hand along her shoulder. She tensed at the touch, but didn’t give the demon the satisfaction of otherwise reacting. “My my, aren’t you all grown up? And here I thought I was speaking to a little girl of fourteen.” The demon leaned forward, breath hot on her ear. “Someone’s taught you well. Forged that will of yours into something strong.” Iva had forged herself through sweat and blood and many many long hours. She wasn’t without her pride. The demon gave another chuckle. “Call a Cousland a Cousland, hm? Perhaps I should’ve let one of my kin at you, instead.” A fingernail scraped along the line of her neck. Iva fought the urge to squeeze her eyes tight, but she couldn’t hide her shiver. “So much history and power in that name of yours. So much… _pride_. Could you withstand it, I wonder? The call of like to like, of power to power. You could be the most powerful Cousland this land has ever seen. Fear the wrath of the dread Iva Cousland,” it mocked.

“That’s not what I want.” And it wasn’t. Iva didn’t want to be great and powerful and terrible. She felt something in her mind, like a probing finger. The realization of what she faced, at the visage it had chosen, made her cheeks turn pink. “That’s not what I _desire_.”

The demon laughed, except its voice was no longer that of her friend. “Found me out at last, have you?” Iva didn’t fight the urge to move this time; she jerked away and whirled to face the demon. It was purple, and horned, with eyes that looked like fire. Golden chains crisscrossed its otherwise bare chest. A cloth hung in front of its legs, though it did little to conceal the demon’s thighs or apparent arousal. Iva’s cheeks were still flushed but she took in every last detail. She would not forget what this creature was. “Ah, yes,” it purred. “Know thy enemy.” A hand trailed along its belly, but Iva didn’t follow the motion. “Not that I need to be your enemy. I know what you want,” it said.

“Of course you do.”

“Of course I do,” it agreed, ignoring her flat tone. “Such a noble goal, especially for someone so young.” It gestured down to the courtyard of the ruined castle, which Iva could now see with perfect clarity. The bodies, she realized with a lurch of her stomach, were the people she cared about. Her mama and papa were tangled together, bloody hands clasped tight. Fergus and Nathaniel and Delilah were in the corner, faces twisted in horror, dead eyes open to the sky. Rory was half-under a boulder. Master Ryan and Emma were in the middle of it all, clearly blasted by some force of magic. “You’re so scared you’ll lose control. That you’ll hurt them.” The demon paced forward until Iva had to look up to meet its gaze. She was frozen in her horror; she couldn’t move, couldn’t look away from it. “I could give you the power you need to keep them safe,” it whispered. “All you have to do… is let me in.”

She shook her head. Her voice was weak, but she still managed a quiet “No.” The demon stepped back, and she found a little more of the steel in her spine. “No,” she repeated. “I will control myself. I will protect them myself. I will do this with my own power, or I am not worthy of this name of mine.” The demon hissed, raising claws even as Iva shifted into a defensive stance.

With a choked gasp, she woke up. A plan half-formed in her mind. She couldn’t _hurt_ them if she didn’t **see** them.


	7. Arc I Part VII

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning for a little blood/injury

* * *

The day before her sixteenth nameday Fergus cornered her after her morning practice. “You haven’t gone to Highever town for too long, Iva!” He threw an arm around her shoulder. “You’re taking the day off and coming with me.”

Iva hmm-ed. “I don’t know how Master Ryan is gonna feel about that.”

“Totally fine! I already told him about it.” Fergus grinned at her. “He said you’ve been working more than hard enough to earn a break.” Iva looked hesitant. She _was_ hesitant. “You’ve been so withdrawn for… well, for a while now.” His fingers tightened on her shoulder; Iva reached up and rested her hand on his. “Come on, sister, one day isn’t going to kill you.”

“You’re right.”

“Of course I am!” He gave her hair a quick ruffle and then stepped away. “Meet me at the gate when you’re ready.”

Iva watched her brother go with a faint smile. She wanted to spend time with him, and she missed walking through the streets and seeing how her people were doing. But the day’s training belonged to Emma, and even the reminder of her limited knowledge of magic was enough to make her wary. Three years didn’t seem like enough time to prepare herself. She sighed and headed for the castle. What was the worst that could happen?

* * *

An accident, apparently, is the worst that could happen. A horse, startled, a cart, overturned. A young man lying in the street, bleeding out, where the carriage hitch had snapped and embedded in his leg. Iva strode over to the accident, forcing her breathing to be steady even though she felt like she was gonna be sick. Fergus tugged at her shoulder. “Iva, no. We can’t-” he looked down at the man. “There’s nothing we can do.”

The woman sobbing next to the victim turned on them. “Don’t say that! Don’t! He’s all we’ve got left. The babe and I- we’ll starve without him.”

Iva swallowed. This was going to ruin her. But letting a man bleed out in the street when she could save him would be worse. She knelt next to the man, placing her hands on his leg around the injury. He screamed. “Steady, steady.” She spoke softly, soothingly, even if he couldn’t hear her. “Fergus, when I tell you, pull the wood out.”

“He’ll just-”

“Fergus!” Iva whipped her head around to glare at her brother. She had blood on her hands, on her skirts, and her eyes were wide. “Do you trust me?”

“Yes.”

“Then pull,” she ordered, and he did. She poured healing magic into the wound. A few people stepped back, and one turned and ran in what was most likely an attempt to locate some templars, but the man’s wife sat still and rapt as Iva worked.

When she was done, Iva sat back and wiped her brow. “Thank you ma’am!” The wife was embracing her husband - gently, for fear of hurting him further, but the embrace was no less full of love and relief. “You’ve saved me and my boy from starving, you have. Andraste bless you!”

“And you as well,” Iva murmured.

Fergus pulled her to her feet. “All right, up you go. Time to go home.”

“Fergus,” she said softly, and her stomach churned. “Chantry law says I have to-”

He started leading her down the road. “You can changed and get the blood off first, at least. And say goodbye to our parents.”

Maker, mama and papa. Iva was going to be sick, she really was. “The templars-”

“Will be able to find you.” He was using that grown-up tone of his. The Teyrn’s Heir voice. She wanted to shake him for it. She wanted to hide behind him for it. “Castle Cousland is easy enough to get to, and it’s no secret who you and I are.”

“I don’t want to get you in trouble.”

Fergus’ fingers tightened on her shoulder for the second time that day. He was silent for a moment. Iva thought he’d just accepted her words at face value. Finally, he spoke, and his voice was thick with some emotion when he said “You’re my baby sister, Iva. Letting you see mother and father one last time is really the least I can do.”

Iva felt her own tears spill over. “It’s more than enough.”

By the time they made it back to the castle, they’d both stopped crying. Fergus led Iva past the wide-eyed gatesmen and into the hall. “Go to your room. Change and pack. I’ll find mother and father and bring them back here.”

Iva didn’t waste her time getting to her room and shucking off her bloodstained dress. The water pitcher from where she’d freshened up after practice was still out. Her morning archery forms felt like they were a lifetime ago, not a scant handful of hours. Iva wiped the blood and dust off as quickly as she dared. She pulled a dress from her wardrobe - an older one, and maybe a little plain, but sturdy and good for travel. Iva suspected she’d be doing a lot of travel in the coming days; it was a long way to Lake Calenhad. Tears sprang up in her eyes at the reminder that this was real, this was really happening, but she blinked them back. Crying would do her no good now. She’d made her choice, and she knew it was the right one.

There were precious few things that she could take that the Templars would let her keep. A couple of books, well-loved and obviously often read. Her hairbrush and mirror, a lovely set in a lovely box that Delilah had given her for a nameday gift. The tiny carved dragon statuette that Fergus had handed down to her when he’d grown “too old” to play with it, and she’d loved it chipped wing and all. Her Alexandrite pendant was already around her neck, tucked safely under her dress where she always wore it. She tossed some smallclothes and a few of her favorite socks in, and then she closed up the pack and made her way back to the hall.

 _I will not cry. I will not cry._ She repeated the mantra in her head. She would go gracefully; she would do the Cousland name proud. Iva focused on her breathing and her mantra as she walked towards her future. Her parents were already waiting in the hall; it was one of the only times anyone could recall the Teyrn openly weeping. He was silent, and his hand was clasped around his wife’s. She wasn’t weeping, but she looked like she might burst into tears at any moment. Iva wondered how alike they must look, mother and daughter, both green-eyed and seconds from losing control. She stepped into view in her traveling dress, her favorite worn and scuffed boots already on her feet. There were templars in the hall. There were templars in her home.

One of the ones without a helmet, his eyes as grey as his hair, snapped “You’re the mage?”

Iva nodded. “Yes ser.”

“You healed a man in the street after an accident today?”

“Yes ser.”

“You’re going to come quietly?” At that, her mother made a choked noise.

Iva nodded again. She was calm. She was collected. “Yes ser.”

“Good. Let’s go.”

Her heart was pounding as she walked toward them. “Ser, might I say goodb-” Her sentence was cut off when he turned around and backhanded her. She tumbled to the floor, the left side of her face flaring with pain.

Fergus stepped forward, fists clenching, even as the templar said “It’s against the rules.”

“Fergus!” Iva’s shout stilled him and probably saved him from the templar’s wrath, even if it made the templars flinch and turn toward her. “The good ser is right, brother. If it’s against the rules...”

The templar who’d hit her harrumphed. The others, most of whom were younger, glanced at each other uneasily. Iva could imagine the picture they were seeing - sweet, young girl bleeding on the floor, so far a paragon of obedience and kindness, and an old angry man who’d just smacked a child for wanting to say goodbye to her parents. She could only endear them to her by being good.

Another templar stepped forward, this one helmeted. “A word outside, Ser Broughton. Now.” His helmet turned toward her for a second. “Say your goodbyes, child. Best make it quick.”

Her father practically scooped her off the floor, he embraced her so quickly. “Oh, pup.” Her mother slid into the embrace as well, putting her arms around her daughter and husband. “You’re such a brave girl, Iva. Oh, my little pup.”

“We love you,” Eleanor murmured into her hair. “We love you so much.”

“Time’s up,” someone said, not unkindly. “We’ve got to go.”

Iva nodded. “Yes, ser. Of course.” She picked up her pack and looked at her parents one last time. “I love you both. You too, Fergus.”

“Take care, little sister.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next time - to the tower!


	8. Arc II Part I

* * *

Iva was lead into the tower with not much fanfare. They’d arrived fairly late, and one of the templars - Ser Claudine, who’d been her guard for privy breaks - explained that most of the other mages would be in their rooms already, as it was past curfew. Ser Broughton and the other Highever templars took their leave. Only Knight-Lieutenant Claudine and Ser Alex remained.

They lead Iva through the circular tower and up to the second floor. The templars brought her to someone’s study; a large, inviting room with books lining the walls and all sorts of curious instruments on the low tables. Iva herself was directed to the seat before the desk. Behind the desk were two men, both older - the one in mage robes looked like he could be her grandfather, while the man in plate looked not much older than her father. Iva swallowed the lump that threatened at the thought of her father.

“Knight-Commander, First Enchanter.” Ser Claudine rested a gentle hand on Iva’s shoulder. “This is the mage we recovered from Highever.”

The man in plate - the Knight-Commander, Iva supposed - gave her a measured look. “Your missive said she was quite cooperative upon leaving her home. Did she remain so on the way here?”

“Yes Ser. Honestly, I’ve never been on an escort mission so smooth.”

The First Enchanter asked, “How did she get injured?” He gestured to Iva’s half-healed lip.

“When we arrived at Castle Cousland, the girl merely asked to say goodbye to her parents.” Ser Claudine squeezed her shoulder in what was surely meant as a comforting gesture. With her gauntlet on, it wasn’t, but Iva appreciated the sentiment all the same. “Ser Broughton, one of the local templars in the area, overreacted.”

The First Enchanter stepped forward so that he stood before her chair. “Are you alright, child?” Iva, who’d been silent through the whole exchange, merely nodded before she tipped her face down further. This was all so surreal. Any minute now she’d be waking up and finding out it was a dream. A horrible, confusing dream.

“She was quiet on the way in, as well.” Ser Claudine patted her shoulder. “I will return to my duties. I leave her in capable hands. First Enchanter. Knight-Commander.”

Iva was still scared, still in shock, but she had to speak up. Ser Claudine had been kind, as kind as a woman taking a child from her home could be. “Ser Claudine?” All three of them were looking at her; she could feel their gazes even if she had only turned her head to look at the retreating templar. “I thank you for your care, Ser.”

Ser Claudine chuckled. “Polite one too.” She tipped her head toward Iva. “It was my duty, Iva.” And she left.

“I’ve got some questions for you,” said the Knight-Commander. “Irving, if you please.” The First Enchanter sighed but stepped back from her seat. Right. She was a mage. She was dangerous. Of course the Knight-Commander had questions for her. “What’s your name?”

Surely he knew that already. Maybe he was testing her, seeing how honestly she would respond? “Iva Cousland, Ser.”

“You were discovered doing magic on the main street in Highever town?”

“Yes, Ser.”

“Healing magic?”

“Yes, Ser.” Iva swallowed again.

The Knight-Commander paused. “Correct me if I’m wrong, Irving, but does sixteen not sound late to manifest powers? Especially in such a degree as to successfully heal a man of impalement on the first try?”

“It is odd,” said Irving, though he sounded reluctant. “Tell us, child, have you ever performed magic before you healed the man?”

Oh, here it was. Iva hoped she’d gotten good enough at presenting a story to make it believable. She would not give up Master Ryan or Emma in any way. “Yes, Ser. I- I did it once, when I was thirteen.” She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment and hoped she looked half as scared as she felt. “I fell out of a tree, see, and I didn’t land very well. I thought I’d hurt my leg bad enough, but when I grabbed it in my pain it… hurt less. I thought maybe I’d hit my head when I fell and imagined it all, but I remembered when I saw that man bleeding in the street.” She looked up at both of them then, and she knew she had to look about to cry. She could feel the tears pricking at her eyes. “After it was done, Ser, I told my brother I had to go to the templars. He’s not going to get in trouble for taking me home first, is he?”

“Of course not, child,” said Irving. The Knight-Commander scowled, but he didn’t argue. “You’re sure you’ve not done any more magic?”

She nodded. “I am. I was scared, so I tried not to think about it. I realize that was very selfish of me. And if I’m here then my family and my town are safe.”

Something about her words calmed the Knight-Commander, just a little, for his expression softened and he’d stopped staring at her so intently. Good. That was exactly what Iva wanted. She might look tiny and unassuming but she was sixteen, a lady nearly grown, and she had all the training her mother could give her. If she was expected to convince diplomats and kings, she could convince a templar and a mage. The Knight-Commander coughed. “I suppose that’s all I’ll need. I assume you can handle the rest, Irving?”

“Of course, Greagoir.”

* * *

For someone who was used to as much or as little privacy as she wished, the Circle dormitories were jarring.

She shared a space with twenty-seven other girls who ranged from four to eighteen. They’d all been there for a while (one of the girls, Xaria Surana, had been there ten years), and then suddenly Iva was there. From the moment they’d woken up and found someone new in the dorm, there’d been talk. A handful of the girls approached her directly - little ones with not enough social graces to care, and one or two older ones who apparently genuinely wanted to say hello - but for the most part, they tucked their heads together and speculated what her story must be.

Talking didn’t hurt anyone. Iva was content to let them whisper, let them imagine. She was still partly in shock from being torn from her life and her home. A small, petty part of her wanted to stay aloof. If she didn’t get attached to any of them, then she couldn’t be hurt when they got taken away. She rose with the sun and did stretches until the templars came and said that they could leave the dorms. Iva had everything explained to her by the First Enchanter. She’d take classes with the younger apprentices until it was decided that she was ready to move up.

Mages weren’t expected to rise at dawn. Not the apprentices, not the enchanters. None of them. The little corner of her mind that Master Ryan had cultivated noted this - let the mages rise late, work little, get slow and content and weak. It was a brilliant strategy for all its simplicity. But Iva was used to waking with the sun and immediately going to practice her archery. She couldn’t so that here, not really, but she would be damned if she let herself get soft and compliant. Let every blighted templar think she was agreeable and meek; Iva planned to at least keep her physical strength up, if nothing else.

She rose while most of the apprentices were still asleep. A couple of pairs of eyes watched her in the gloom, but nobody said anything. Iva padded over to the washroom. It was quiet, and shielded from view, and exactly what she needed. Plus, if a templar were to ask her what she was doing in there, she could use the privy as an answer. She tucked herself behind one of the privacy screens and started with push-ups. She would not let herself rot in this tower. Master Ryan would be proud.

* * *

Iva was in the middle of a set of sit-ups when she heard a whisper. “Is this really what you’re doing every morning?”

There was a pause before Iva finished her set, and then she rested her arm across her knees and looked at who’d spoken. Xaria was an elf, a pretty slender girl with deep brown skin, eyes like fire agate, and hair so fine and so light it looked like cornsilk. In the pre-dawn light through the high windows, it looked almost white. Xaria’s grin glowed in the dark, bared teeth more mischievous than threatening. “Cera thought you were sneaking in here for some alone time. I guess I win the bet.”

“There’s a bet?” Iva asked, before Xaria’s words registered and her face flushed. “ _Alone time_?”

Xaria shrugged. “S’not like you need to leave your bed for that, though. So long as you keep it quiet, the other girls won’t complain. You never know who’s doing the same in the next bed over anyway.”

Iva was fairly certain that her face couldn’t get any more red. “I’m not- that’s not-”

Xaria leaned forward, expression shifting to something a little more serious. “Good on you for not wasting away here.” She reached forward and patted Iva’s shoulder, and the familiarity of the action was comforting. “Anyway, I’m going back to bed. Some of us like to get up _after_ the sun.”


	9. Arc II Part II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning for gendered slurs & ableist language

* * *

Iva left the First Enchanter’s office with a stack of books cradled in her arms. She was being moved next week from the classes with the younger apprentices to that of the older ones - apprentices actually her age. She had only been at the Circle a few months, so the fact that Irving thought her ready to move up to people who had been studying magic for years felt like a victory. She missed Emma, still; Emma had been kind and patient, but there was always a dangerous streak in her that mirrored Master Ryan.

Iva turned a corner and spotted one of the templars down the hall. Ser Griems, a templar with a notoriously foul personality, was heading her way, and he looked _furious_. Not at her, she’d done nothing wrong, but that didn’t matter. He’d take his anger out on the first mage close enough to scream at. Iva turned and all but ran, careful not to drop her armful. She couldn’t open a door with her hands full, so she found the first partially-open door and nudged it open, ducking into the room.

The room wasn’t empty.

Two mages were wrapped up in each other’s arms, lips molded together and bodies pressed frantically together. Not two mages - Iva recognized one vaguely as one of the children’s teachers, and the other was one of the apprentices her age. Mages were forbidden from… fraternizing, but that didn't mean it didn’t happen. But an apprentice wasn’t yet safe from the brand. Iva was staring, she knew, but she couldn’t stop. The apprentice made a low noise of frustration. He leaned away from the teacher long enough to glare at her. “Do you mind?”

“Ser Griems is coming,” she said simply, because what else could she say?

“Shit.” The teacher peeled away from the apprentice, smoothing out his robes, while the apprentice glanced around for an exit and found none. “Shit,” he swore again.

Iva looked at both of them - flushed, disheveled, clearly both up to something. The teacher had a hickey on his neck, just half-hidden by the hem of his robes. They’d both be punished severely if Griems found them, especially in his current mood, “Right,” she said. They both glanced at her. Her stomach turned at the sheer danger of what she was about to do. She offered them a weak smile before she turned and fled out the door. The apprentice reached out to grab her; she felt his fingertips brush her back, but he missed. Iva paid him no mind; she’d have to time this perfectly.

Griems rounded the corner and Iva let her foot ‘snag’ on a stone. She toppled forward, crying out, but the noise was muted by the sound of books thudding to the ground and against plate. “You hit me with your books, mage.” Iva didn’t even have to fake tears; of all the scary things about the tower, Griems was the worst. “Stupid clumsy bitch.”

“I’m sorry, Ser!” She crawled along, scooping the books up as best as she could.

“Yeah, that’s right, crawl around like a filthy animal and clean up your mess.” He kicked the books out of her arms when she got close, and the force of the plate against her skin would surely leave a nasty bruise. “What are you doing, mage? Pick up your books.”

“Of course, Ser. Sorry, Ser.”

He scowled down at her, but blessedly didn’t kick the books out of her arms again. Once she was standing and her things were gathered, he gave her a shove. She thudded against the wall, head aching where it hit the stone, but she held onto her books and closed her eyes. _Please, let him be done_. Something wet and warm hit her cheek. He’d spit on her, she realized, and her stomach turned again. She opened her eyes but kept her mouth shut, and he grunted before striding off. As soon as the sound of plate had faded she turned and hurried back to her dorm.

* * *

After the incident with Ser Griems, Iva tried to avoid everyone she could. It wasn’t hard, with how she kept to herself despite the absolute lack of privacy. In fact, no one even tried to to break her usual silence until about three days after the incident. She spent pretty much all of her free time in the library, where she could sit and hide behind a book and generally avoid harassment or just company in general without being mocked in hushed whispers from the next apprentices over. At least the library had couches, even if they were so stiff and old that hardly anyone wanted to use them to begin with. It was comfortable enough that Iva could trade the poor cushions for a little extra peace.

Someone plopped down onto the couch next to Iva, but she didn’t look up from her book. Maybe they’d get tired of waiting and leave. Besides, she was almost done with this ridiculously boring chapter on healing poisoned wounds - made twice as boring by the fact that Emma had taught her all this already, but the tower had eyes and she had to make her ‘lack of teacher’ look convincing.

“You’re alright, you know that?”

Iva did look up then; the voice was familiar, though she couldn’t place it. The apprentice had a warm smile, amber eyes, reddish-blond hair. He also wore an impish grin. The apprentice who’d been making out with the teacher, right. That was him. Iva sniffed and looked back down at her book; a move she’d often used on Fergus to remind him that she was, if fact, a poised and proper lady sometimes. “I make do.”

“Seriously,” said the apprentice. “You absolutely saved my skin the other day. Griems is a real piece of work.”

“Keep it down,” she hissed, glaring at him in warning. A little louder, she said “I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean. I’m just a little clumsy, sometimes.”

He snickered. “Oh, you’re good. You know this kind of song and dance, yeah?” Of course she did. She didn’t stop being a Teyrn’s daughter just because she could work magic. “You know how to play the game. Makes sense, though, if some of the rumors about you are true.”

“Rumors?” Iva didn’t know why she was surprised. “No, wait, don’t answer that. Why ruin the mystery?” She’d arrived in the middle of the night, she spoke to hardly anyone, and there wasn’t much to do in the tower except study and gossip unless you wanted to break the rules.

He raised an eyebrow at her and she snorted. “Right, well, my point was that you risked your neck for people you don’t even know. That takes a special kind of person, I think.” He laid his hand on her arm, probably in what was meant in a companionable way. Unfortunately, he’d laid his hand right over the bruise Griems’ boot had given her. She sucked a breath in between her teeth to keep herself from crying out, and the apprentice snatched his hand back like he’d been burned. His voice was soft when he said “Griems?”

“The one and only,” Iva replied.

He reached for her sleeve, pausing before touching her wrist. “May I?” She nodded, and he rolled up the fabric until he could see the bruise. Bruise was the kind way of putting it, Iva thought. It was mottled and ugly, and _huge_ , as wide across as the length of her hand. “That’s-” he stared at the mark with something akin to horror. Iva sat quietly and waited for him to be done. “Doesn’t that hurt?”

“Of course it hurts.” She shrugged. “But it’s just a bruise.”

“Just a- oh for Andraste’s sake.” He stood, suddenly, and tugged at her arm until she was standing too.

“What are you doing?”

“Taking you to the infirmary. You’re allowed to use healing magic in there, you know.” Iva tucked her book under her arm and rolled her sleeve back down. No sense in walking around displaying it, especially if there was a chance they might run into Griems on the way. “I’m Anders, by the way. And you’re Iva.”

“Beg pardon?”

He grinned as he lead her through the halls. “Now we’re not strangers.”

* * *

Iva shifted her books from one arm to the other and tried not to look as helpless as she felt. She glanced around, unsure exactly where the upper level apprentice creation class was being held. “Lost?” a wry voice at her left nearly made Iva jump. She turned to see a familiar elf, brown eyes peeking out from under cornsilk-light hair.

“Xaria!” Iva felt a rush of relief. Xaria had been in the tower so long she was studying with apprentices much older. She would know where the class was.

The elf smiled. “I’d heard a rumor that you were moving up to our class level. Walk with me?”

“Maker, yes.”

Xaria snickered. “Don’t get too down on yourself. This place couldn’t be any more of a maze if it tried.” She began leading the way toward the library and the doors to the second level of the tower. No wonder Iva couldn’t find it, if she wasn’t even on the right floor. “Creation’s not so bad, if a little boring. Enchanter Wynne’s nice enough.” Xaria’s grin was infectious. “It’s the class she teaches after that’s hard. Spirit healing. She’s like a grandma in creation class, but her apprentices for Spirit Healing? They say she goes full-on militant. Hardcore.”

“I haven’t decided on a specialization yet,” Iva confessed. “The First Enchanter says I should, soon, but also to take my time.”

“He’s a waffler,” Xaria pronounced. “He’ll almost never firmly decide anything. Drives the Knight-Commander nuts.”

Iva shifted her books again. “What are you specializing in?”

Xaria’s ears twitched when she grinned. “Primal. Earth-based, specifically. I am a master of the stonefist, and I can even make small quakes now.” Xaria planted her hands on her hips, puffing up her chest just a little for dramatic flair. Iva imagined her standing just so, cackling as bandits toppled over onto their faces from the force of her spell, and it was certainly an impressive image.

Before she could comment, Xaria tugged at her sleeve and pulled her into a classroom. A couple of the other students glanced their way, but Iva paid them no mind. “Thanks,” she murmured.

“No problem!” Xaria gave her a last smile before shuffling off to sit with another apprentice - Jowan, Iva realized. It was stranger to see him and Xaria apart than it was to see them together.

Anders was on the back row, talking animatedly to a female apprentice that seemed to be doing her best to ignore him. Iva herself sat right in the front, on an empty row. She would prove she was ready to study advanced magic. As always, she missed Emma for a few brief seconds, but she pushed the feeling back. She would focus. She could do this.

Wynne proved to be almost exactly like Xaria had said she would be. She was kind and patient, and had all the bearing of a wise old grandmother. At the end of the lesson, she assigned them reading and turned them loose on their free time for the day. “Those of you in my next class, stay seated. We’ll start momentarily. Iva, if I might have a word?”

Iva had almost made it to the door. “Of course, Enchanter Wynne,” she replied. Xaria shot her her a sympathetic look as she headed out the door, and Jowan raised an eyebrow even as she tugged at his elbow.

Wynne had a nice laugh, Iva decided. It was also very warm and grandmotherly. “There’s no need for that face of doom and gloom,” she chided. “I just wanted to ask you a couple of questions, make sure you’re settling in okay, that sort of thing.”

Iva wondered if Irving had put her up to this, but the concern in her expression was genuine. It relaxed Iva a little. “It’s hard,” she said honestly. “But I’m adjusting.”

“Good, good.” Wynne patted her shoulder. “I just want you to know that if you need anything, if you ever want to talk, I am willing to listen.”

“Thank you,” Iva replied, and meant it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> going out of town ; updates will resume 4/27


	10. Arc II Part III

* * *

 Tray in hand, Iva weaved her way along the mess hall until she was at the table in the far corner. Nobody sat back there, which was exactly why she’d chosen to sit there every day. Maybe all new mages to the tower were like this, living on the fringes and not integrating themselves until they got too bored or too lonely to avoid everyone else. Maybe she was just a special case. Either way, Iva sat alone at meals.

She picked up her bread and chewed it absently, glancing at the scroll of notes she’d taken in entropy class. It sounded like a decent enough school of magic to pursue, even if it made the templars a little wary. Then again, mages who’d been out of the tower as long as she had, that could still remember what life on the outside was like, made the templars wary. As long as she kept her head down and didn’t act like she wanted out, she’d be fine.

A tray dropped down next to her hand, covering her notes. A body followed it, bumping into her right elbow as it settled down. As _he_ settled down, Iva corrected, looking at Anders with a raised eyebrow. “Do you seriously sit here alone every meal? Sheesh. That seems so lonely. And so boring.”

“I use the time to study,” she said.

“You use the time to study! Every time I see you, you’re studying. When are you not studying?”

“When I’m sleeping,” she said evenly.

He looked at her a long moment before her lips twitched, and then he snorted. “When I’m sleeping, she says. I should introduce you to Finn.” He half-rose from his seat so that he could call out across the hall. “Finn! Hey, Finn!” Iva managed not to blush, tugging on the sleeve of his robes and hissing at him to sit down. “Finn! Flora!”

“Don’t call me Flora,” a voice snapped back. A mage she recognized as one of Wynne’s apprentices wrinkled his nose at Anders even as he primly placed his tray on the table and seated himself across from Iva. “What do you want, Anders?”

Anders clutched at his heart dramatically. “Finn, old buddy, you wound me.”

“Get to the point.”

“No point, dearest Flora,” Finn scowled, “except to introduce you to my new friend Iva here. Iva, Finn. Finn, the lovely, and might I add magnanimous, Iva.” Iva sighed. What a melodramatic. “I was just telling Iva here that she sounds almost as boring as you. Isn’t that sad?”

Iva hmphed. “Some of us would like to be Harrowed before we’re thirty.” She reached under his tray and tugged her notes out. “If that means I have to study at meals, oh well.”

“Certainly more interesting that listening to you carry on,” Finn added, still glowering at Anders.

Iva finished off her bread. “I still haven’t decided what school of magic I’d like to focus on first.” She waved her hand at her rescued notes. “Entropy seems like it has some interesting applications.” Both boys looked dubious. “Ugh. Spirit healers.” There was no real bite behind her words. “I’m talking combat applications.”

Finn quite obviously glanced around to see if there were templars around. Anders looked at her like she’d lost her mind. “And who exactly would you be fighting?”

At that, she shrugged. “Who knows? The King can call on the Circle, if - Maker forbid - we go to war. Noblemen can request mages in their regiment, if they can also house a templar.”

Finn nodded. “I think that’s what my father plans to do, once I’ve been a Harrowed Mage for long enough.” He looked more closely at her. Anders, too, was regarding her intently. “You think a noble would want a combat mage, specifically you, around?”

“This has something to do with you being brought in the middle of the night.” Anders grinned. “You’re some noble’s cousin or something. You’ve got that air about you.  Not prissy, like Flora here-”

“Hey!”

“-but something. Poised, maybe.” She opened her mouth to respond and he shook his head. “No, don’t tell me. Why ruin the mystery?” She smiled. Maybe Anders wasn’t so bad.

Finn huffed. “I’m not prissy. Am I prissy?”

* * *

There was a couch in the corner of the library that Iva liked best. It wasn’t tucked behind any shelves or anything like that - had it been, some of the more adventurous mages would have claimed it as a rendezvous point for illicit activities - but it was out of sight of the doors, within decent distance of a low table, and being an older couch it meant it was just uncomfortable enough that it was mostly left alone. The past few days had been quiet, serene even, as Anders had backed off in his relentless pursuit of becoming her friend and given her a bit of peace. Maybe he was letting her adjust. Maybe he was just giving her some space. In any case, Iva found herself missing the company. She was sitting at the couch, muddling through a chapter on the applications of multiple glyphs applied to a singular target, when Finn came into the library and gingerly placed his bag next to the couch. “These cushions are so old. Maker, I don’t even want to think about what might be in this fabric.” Finn settled down on the couch next to her. “Did you have to pick one of these couches?” he asked.

Finn pulled his parchment and quill from his bag. Iva waited for a moment. When Anders didn’t come in, and Finn didn’t ask her any questions beyond his initial (hypothetical) one, instead getting out his own books and throwing himself right into studying, she was momentarily confused.

“You’re staring.”

Iva looked back down at her own book. “Right. Sorry.”

“If I’m bothering you, I can leave,” Finn said. “But I’m already sitting now and I’d really like to finish this segment on Lifeward before Creation class.”

“You’re not-” Iva paused, trying to arrange her thoughts in a sensible way. “I was just confused. We’d literally never even spoken to each other until this week.”

Finn shrugged. “Anders is excellent at knowing who is worth speaking to and who isn’t.” He didn’t even look up from his reading. “He thought you worth my time. You’re also exponentially less annoying than him, so if we study sitting together we’re not… oh, how did he put it? ‘wasting our youth away by being hermits’. He thinks we need more friends,” Finn explained.

“And you think I’ll make a decent friend?”

“Why wouldn’t you? You’re clearly noble-born, you’re quiet, you like studying…” They were all true, although Iva wasn’t sure how she felt about being _clearly_ noble-born. Finn finally did look up from his book. “And Anders thinks you’re well worth the time, so why shouldn’t I?”

Both of them looked at this quiet girl hiding behind a mask, trying her best to stay aloof and anonymous in the tower, and thought her worthy of friendship. The thought was warming. Iva smiled and turned her face back toward her book to hide just how touched she was. “That’s- thanks.”

“Now if you don’t mind, I’m going to try to read up on Lifeward before Enchanter Wynne starts us casting it.” Suitably back behind the priggish facade, Finn read beside her in silence.

* * *

“You’re Iva, right?” Iva looked up from her book. One of the other apprentices stood before her, shifting from foot to foot like he really didn’t want to be there. She didn’t recognize him, though he looked vaguely familiar. His hair was red, unevenly trimmed, and his ears flicked forward for a second when he noticed her scrutiny. His brow furrowed. “I’m Eadric. Surana said you would help me.”

“Did she?” Iva marked her place with a slip of parchment and leaned forward.

Eadric nodded. “I need to go out to the herb garden for an assignment, but the templars-” he stopped. Let out a breath. “The templars stationed there today aren’t fond of elves.” Ick. Iva could sympathize with his caution. “Usually Surana goes with me - you know how she is,” he added, at her raised eyebrow. “Nothing stops her, and the templars usually leave me alone when I’m with her. But Surana has class, and she won’t be done before my assignment is due.”

“And she said I’d go with you?” Curious. Xaria and Iva hadn’t spoken much. They were nice enough to each other, but Iva would turn to Anders or Finn before Xaria in a personal crises. But apparently what little Xaria knew of her was enough to judge her character. Accurately judge, as it were. “She’s right,” Iva said, when Eadric scowled. “You probably need to go soon.”

“Now?”

“Of course.” She gathered her couple of books and tucked her parchment and quill into her bag on her hip.

When they got to the herb garden, the templar at the door frowned down on Eadric. Iva stood quietly around the corner; Eadric had asked if he could speak first, still distrustful of her despite Xaria’s opinion. Eadric’s mother had been a servant, Iva knew that from gossip, and she didn’t want to step on his toes. They were both equally apprentices in the Circle. If he wanted to speak first, he was welcome to it. The templar he was currently glaring at was Templar Rhett; he was positively charming for human apprentices, but downright nasty to elven ones. “I have an assignment,” Eadric said firmly. “I need into the gardens.”

“Sounds to me like an excuse to get out and enjoy the sunshine.” Rhett said. “I don’t believe you.”

Eadric paused, because what was there that he could say to that? Iva chose that moment to step around the corner. “Eadric, there you are!” She watched as both of them relaxed their postures. “Still working on that assignment too?”

“Yeah,” he said, catching on immediately and sounding sheepish. “I just wanted to get my primal reading done first, and…”

She smiled. “Left it to the last minute? Me too.” Rhett was now eyeing her, but he had uncrossed his arms, so that was something. “Good afternoon, Ser,” she said. “How are the gardens today?”

“They’re… filled with plants?”

“Excellent.” Iva breezed past him without so much as a second glance, and gestured for Eadric to follow. “Would you mind helping me, Eadric? You’re much better at herbalism than me.”

Eadric passed by the templar with as wide a berth as he could without looking strange, and then they were past and into the gardens, where the templar on duty was “Ser Claudine!”

Claudine smiled. “Iva. Eadric. Good afternoon.” Eadric relaxed a little further. Claudine was alright, for a templar. “You know the drill. Pick your plants and hurry along.”

Eadric walked confidently over to the elfroot and Iva followed. The elfroot was planted side-by-side with the mint. It would be a good enough cover, and when they left Rhett would never know the difference. She bent over the mint, swiping a thumb across the top of a leaf. They both clipped what they wanted - a couple of sprigs of elfroot for Eadric, and a palmful of mint leaves for Iva. They both waved to Claudine before they left, and Iva resisted the sudden urge to give Rhett a sloppy salute.

“Thanks,” Eadric said, once they were out of earshot.

“Oh, that?” Iva shook her head. “It’s no problem, really.”

“No problem.” Eadric snorted.

Iva shook her head. “Seriously, it was just a walk to the gardens. I can do that anytime.”

“Still,” Eadric said, and it almost looked like it pained him to say it. “You’re a strange human. But a nice one, I guess. So thanks.”

He hurried down the hall before she could respond, and she headed back to the library in silence. For the rest of her free time that day she chewed on a mint leaf while she read.


	11. Arc II Part IV

* * *

Iva had just made it to the library and set her books down on what she now thought of as her  couch when she heard Anders shout something behind her. She turned, fully ready to snap at him for disturbing the library’s peace, when she noticed something different.

Anders was wearing Mage robes.

Her eyes widened. Mage robes, not apprentice robes, could only mean one thing. “Are you-?”

“Yep. Not even an hour ago.” He cocked his hip, performing a silly bow that made Iva snicker. “You’re in the presence of a Harrowed mage, Iva dear. How’s it feel? Am I as glorious as I’m supposed to be?” She’d spoken to many Harrowed mages. Notwithstanding her classes, Iva also regularly met with the First Enchanter to discuss how she was doing in her studies. But that wasn’t the point Anders was trying to make. Her friend was _Harrowed_. He was a full mage.

Dryly, she said “You’re something, all right.”

Anders laid a hand over his heart. “My lady you wound me, and on this ‘day of celebration’.” His Irving impression was spot-on, inflection and all. It made Iva laugh, but Anders’ smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. Something in his expression darkened, just a little, but Iva hadn’t even opened her mouth to comment on it before it was gone. “And you’re the first to find out, too. Maybe I should just go to bed.” If he’d been Harrowed, he would have been up half the night. They always took apprentices in the middle of the night.

“You haven’t told anyone else yet?” For Anders to come find her first, after his Harrowing… she hadn’t realized she meant quite so much to him.

Anders shook his head. “I figured I’d find you here. I honestly thought Finn would be here, but…”

“He’s at breakfast,” Iva said. “I didn’t each much. The corner called my name.”

“You’re always studying,” he complained, but there wasn’t any real bite to it. The enthusiasm and dramatics had gone out of him, leaving him looking at her with bags under his eyes and a tired smile. He looked so worn in that moment that Iva hurt just looking at him.

She stepped forward and hugged him. He tensed before awkwardly patting her back. “You’re safe,” she murmured. His fingers tightened on her robes. When she stepped away, she spoke louder. “Congratulations, Anders. Now scram so I can actually concentrate. Go _"practice"_ with your teacher or something.”

“As my lady commands,” he said, bowing dramatically again.

* * *

There was a mage standing at the reference pedestal she needed. She didn’t recognize him (honestly, she still didn’t recognize half the apprentices). His shaggy black hair kept falling into his face as he flipped through the reference book, and though he muttered angrily at it and kept tucking it back, it continued falling in the way. Iva was torn between snickering at his predicament and tapping her foot in impatience. She only had so long before curfew; she was still just an apprentice. Maybe he had plenty of time to waste, being Harrowed and all, but she did not.

She dug around in her pouch at her waist until she found a spare hair tie, which she tossed at the pedestal. It landed neatly right in front of his face and he spun to look at her. She really shouldn’t be antagonizing the older mages, but Iva wanted to find a specific book before she had to go to the dorms. “That should help,” she said.

He gave her an incredulous look for a moment, and when she didn’t back down he huffed and tied his hair back. “You’re not wrong.” His voice was soothing, low and rough and altogether pleasant to Iva. His gaze flickered down to her robes. Robes which marked her as an apprentice. “Trying to beat curfew?”

“Trying to beat curfew,” she agreed with a small nod.

He returned it, stepping back. “Here, you go ahead. Maker knows I’ve got all the time in the world.” She murmured a thanks and began flipping through the pages, keeping a finger tucked where he’d been. “You don’t have to do that.” He gestured to her hand. “I think I might just have to go to the shelves and look by hand.”

Iva grimaced. That would take hours, if not days - assuming they had the book he wanted in the first place. She looked down at the reference book. “I hope that’s not what I’ll have to do, but…”

“What’re you looking for?” He leaned forward, peering at the reference book over her shoulder. He was warm and smelled like faintly like frostrock, and he was right behind her. Iva hoped her own hair would hide the blush on her cheeks. “I spend enough time in here that I might be able to help.”

“McKinley’s _Theories on the Death Cloud_ ,” she replied, pleased with how steady her voice came out.

He stepped back a bit, for which Iva was both intensely grateful and just a little bit disappointed. “Entropy magic, eh? I’ll show you the shelf it should be on.” She followed him out of the reference room. “Entropy is my secondary school, you know. Not many mages study it here.” He gestured to the shelf she wanted, then leaned against the one next to it. “If you ever need someone to practice with,” and oh her heart skipped a beat for a second; Anders always said he was going to ‘practice’ before disappearing to some dark corner with that teacher of his, “we could work something out with one of the Enchanters.” He frowned. “I think Irving plans on naming me an Enchanter soon. Says I’m ready for apprentices. You’re a little older than what he has in mind, I think.”

“I came to the tower late,” she explained. Her heart was thudding in her chest. Damn Anders and his dalliances. At least she wasn’t blushing anymore. “I’m eighteen and mostly studying specialization on my own. Since I’m an odd case, the First Enchanter would be the person to talk to.”

He was quiet for a minute. “I could. Talk to Irving, I mean. If you’d like someone to practice with.”

“That would be nice,” Iva said, both because it would be immensely useful to actually practice casting with someone, and because his voice made her stomach flutter. “I’m Iva, by the way.”

He laughed softly. “A name probably would help, wouldn’t it? I’m Niall.”

She found the book she was looking for and tugged it from the shelf, holding it to her chest not unlike a shield. “I’m just gonna… go, before I break curfew and lose out on practice permission.”

“That would be a shame,” Niall said, and his small smile grew. If she thought his voice had her stomach twisting, his smile made her cheeks pink again. “Good night, Iva.”

* * *

The sound of someone in full armor wasn’t an odd sound in the tower library. When the sound came towards her and stopped in front of her seat, she looked up. Cullen was standing there, looking almost sorry to interrupt her. “First Enchanter Irving asked to see you.”

“Now, I presume?” He nodded. “I’ll go straightaway. Thank you, Ser Cullen.”

She gathered her books and hurried for the stairs. It probably wasn’t serious; Irving often liked to call the odd case students in to see how their studies were progressing. That didn’t mean that Iva wasn’t going to worry, just that she probably had no reason to and was being unsuitably pessimistic. She smiled at Leorah as she passed, but did not stop to speak with anyone.

When she reached his study, she didn’t wait to knock on the frame before ducking into the open door. Irving smiled at her. “Don’t look so worried, child. I’m sure young Cullen made this sound more serious than it is.” He gestured to the chair before his desk. “Please, have a seat.” She sat. “I’ve heard you might be looking at entropy for your primary school of study.”

“I am.” She tipped the books in her arms, where Lewis’ simply-titled _Hexes_ sat on top. Below it peeked the corner of _Theories on the Death Cloud_.

“You’ve already started researching, then? Wonderful.” Irving never did seem to sit down at his desk; even now, he easily paced behind it as he spoke to Iva. “To be honest, child, I have a task for you.”

“A task?”

“Niall tells me that he’s offered to help you practice entropy.” She nodded. “I think he’s almost ready for apprentices, but it’s never a sure thing, deciding who should or shouldn’t have students of their own. I’ve given him permission to tutor you, as it were, and he will be providing me with updates on your skills.” Iva had expected as much, so she just nodded again. “I would like you to give me reports on him.”

Well, that sounded… not at all like what she’d thought he would ask. “What?”

“Tell me how he does as a teacher. It doesn’t have to be anything formal, though any specifics you can provide would be most helpful. He’s teaching out of his primary school, so how well or how badly he does teaching you will be an excellent indicator if he is ready for more permanent students.”

That didn’t sound so terrible. “I believe I can do that,” she said.


	12. Arc II Part V

* * *

Niall gestured toward the empty end of the classroom. It was furthest from the door and easy to cordon off with a simple barrier, which was how the classroom had been intentionally laid out. “Try it again.” Iva, who’d been unsuccessfully trying to conjure a death cloud for the past hour, glared at him. Entropic magic was difficult, and the results wouldn’t be as clear until she was tested in combat. Even though death cloud was a more difficult spell, its results would be visible. Niall had also said that starting her off with the difficult stuff would make her accomplishments with lower-level spells feel more like actually accomplishing something.

She sighed, and wiped sweat from her brow, and spoke before her brain could catch up to her mouth. “There are easier ways to get a girl worked up and sweaty, you know.”

Niall was clearly surprised at her remark, but he still chuckled. Iva focused on gathering the energy for a death cloud, lest she actually think about the fact she’d just said _that_ to _Niall_ and he’d laughed instead of shooting her down. She was spending too much time around Anders, clearly; it made her cheeky.

“True, but I don’t think those particular one-on-one sessions would be approved by the First Enchanter.”

 _Did he really just say that?_ Her cheeks flushed and Iva almost let the spell go early, but managed to catch it with a little extra push of mana. She ignored the quiet “well done” and focused on her target space. She imagined the space at the end of the room filled with enemies, and she released the spell. The resulting death cloud was almost pitiful compared to what it should be, but she’d cast it. She’d actually cast it.

“Well done,” Niall repeated. Iva’s stomach did flips when he smiled. “I honestly hadn’t expected you to be able to cast it at all this early.” He tapped his leg absently with his stave. “Entropy might make a good primary school for you after all-”

The door behind them banged open. They spun around to see Finn stumble into the room, panting heavily. He’d been running. He never ran. Dread settled in Iva’s heart. “Finn, what’s wrong?”

“Anders,” he gasped. “It’s Anders. He’s gone.”

“Gone?” Niall asked.

Finn hunched over, resting his hands on his knees while he caught his breath. “He’s escaped.” Iva clenched her fists. “Slipped right out of the tower. The templars are trying to hide the news, so I had to come find you before they found me.”

“Thanks, Finn.” She felt numb. Anders was gone. He’d waited not even a full three days after his Harrowing. Of course he waited until his Harrowing; why would he want to wait a second more?

Finn, no longer wheezing and gasping, stood back up, though he leaned against the wall. “They’re probably gonna question you about it,” he warned.

“I know.” Iva ran a hand over her face. Her palm still smelled faintly like dampness where she’d cast her cloud. She felt very, very tired all of a sudden.

Niall touched her shoulder. “Maybe we should call it a day for your lesson.”

Right. After trying so many times to cast a death cloud, she felt like she was close to scraping bottom barrel on her mana. “I think so,” she replied. “Same time next week?”

“Same time next week.”

Iva exhaled. “Finn, walk with me to the library?”

He looked at her, really looked. She was shaking from exertion and mana loss. She had to be pale after that sudden shock of news. Finn nodded, and Iva was so very grateful to her friend. “Of course. I wanted to pick up Walpole’s _Spellbloom_ anyway.”

* * *

Iva was sitting quietly in creation class, listening to Wynne lecture on the deflective properties of a warding glyph, when one of the Harrowed mages knocked on the doorframe. “Sorry to intrude, Senior Enchanter,” he said. “May I speak with you for a moment in the hall?”

Wynne stepped out, closing the door behind her. “What’s that about then, do you think?” Petra whispered from behind Iva.

“Must be something serious,” someone whispered back. “I’ve never seen Faulk look so serious.”

The door opened back up and Wynne came in with pursed lips and brow furrowed. “Class is dismissed; you may go. Finn, Iva, stay behind for a moment.”

 _Oh no_. Iva rose from her seat and gathered her things quickly, stepping off to the side while the handful of others filed out of the room. Finn joined her by the wall. He looked as nervous as she felt, and she was almost sorry he was there. Whatever Wynne had to tell them wasn’t pleasant, but she’d rather go through it alone than have Finn suffer with her.

As soon as the last apprentice was out and the door shut behind her, Finn spoke. “Is it Anders?”

Wynne’s brow furrowed a little more. Iva felt her heart drop to her stomach. Oh, it was definitely Anders.

“The templars caught him,” Wynne said. “He’s back in the tower.”

Finn sagged, suddenly, leaning into Iva like he couldn’t hold himself up. She offered her arm and he took it gratefully. For someone who disliked physical contact as much as he did it was worrying to see him need it so badly. Finn’s voice shook when he asked “How badly did they punish him?”

“Ten lashes. No healing for a few days. Limited contact with other mages.” Wynne looked at them both. “They won’t let you see him. Indeed, they won’t let me see him.” Iva was confused only for a second. Of course they wouldn’t want anyone sneaking in to heal him before they allowed. But she was terrible at healing spells, maybe she could… she tried to focus on what Wynne was saying. “-would do him good to see there are people here that care about him, maybe make him realize that staying isn’t so bad. I’ll talk to Greagoir in the meantime.” Wynne was still regarding them with assessing eyes. “Iva, you were older than Anders when you were brought in. Have you thought about escaping?”

“I haven’t,” Iva said, and it was mostly the truth. “If I leave the tower I want it to be fully sanctioned. I can do more good by following the rules and trying my best.”

Wynne nodded. “Good. You may have to repeat that to Greagoir. Until then, why don’t you two go get some rest? Or something to eat. You look especially pale, Florian.”

Finn winced, thought whether it was due to his worry or Wynne’s use of his name Iva was unsure. Finn squeezed her arm twice, a silent scream of _get us out of here_ that Iva immediately recognized. “We’ll do just that, Senior Enchanter. Thank you.” She guided Finn out of the room and towards the stairs before Wynn could stop them.

“We have to go see him,” Finn whispered. Iva nodded. “He’s probably in the cells in the basement.”

“Wonder who’s on guard duty,” Iva murmured.

They made it down the first set of stairs and through the library with no trouble. The antechamber where the stairs lead to the basement was suspiciously empty. No mages, no templars- nobody. Finn let go of Iva’s arm and followed her down to the basement.

When they got close to the cells, they found the path blocked by Ser Ian, an older templar but one who saw people before he saw mages. “Here for Anders, huh?” Ian looked at them both. “Orders are nobody gets through, ‘specially not spirit healers.”

Finn wavered. Iva did not. “I’m no spirit healer, ser. Can’t even really cast a regular healing spell.” Ian grunted. “Senior Enchanter Wynne said it would be good for Anders to see people that care about him here. Might curtail further ideas of escaping.”

“Like the carrot and the stick,” Finn added.

Ser Ian frowned, but his resolute no was looking more like a tentative maybe. Iva would take any advantage. “You might be right about that. Still, orders are no healing mages for sure.”

Finn shifted. “I’ll stay here if Iva can go in.”

“I promise I’ll behave, ser,” Iva said. “No funny business.”

From the door that lead to the cells came a new voice, and the sound of plate as another templar came in. “If we can’t trust that one to behave herself we shouldn’t even let the First Enchanter in.”

Iva could have kissed the woman. “Ser Claudine!” If anyone templar would help them, it would be her.

The Knight-Lieutenant nodded toward Iva. “I”ll take her back myself, Ian. If the Knight-Commander has a problem I’ll speak with him.”

“Alright.”

Claudine looked over at Finn, who sighed. “I’ll stay here, ser. I’d like to walk back with Iva, if that’s alright.” Iva gave her friend a weak smile. This was probably going to be very draining and she was glad she didn’t have to be alone afterward.

“That’s acceptable,” Claudine agreed. The templar rested her gauntleted hand on Iva’s shoulder. “You can have five minutes,” she said, and she led Iva into the cells.

Anders was facedown on a bed in his cell. His back was bandaged, at least, but he sounded almost like he might be muffling tears with his pillow. Claudine let Iva into the cell and then stepped out and closed the door. Aware that she was being watched through the bars, Iva padded forward and knelt next to the bed. “Anders?”

“Iva?” His voice was thick with pain, but he still turned his head to look at her. His cheeks looked bruised and his eyes unfocused. He probably wasn’t even sleeping with the pain he was in. He probably hadn’t slept once he’d broken out, either. “Andraste’s knickers, what are you _doing_ in here? How did you get down here?”

“I asked nicely.” He snorted. It wasn’t a real laugh, but it was close enough. Iva’s eyes burned and she blinked. “Finn and I wanted to make sure you were really back and in one piece.”

Anders huffed. “One piece is debatable, I think. But yes, I’m back in this damnable tower to rot.” He sounded so… bitter. Not broken, not Anders. But still, Iva wished she could heal whatever this was.

“Iva,” Claudine warned from the door.

“Time’s up?” Anders guessed.

Iva blinked back more tears. “Time’s up. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

Anders turned his face away. “S’not like I’m going anywhere.”


	13. Arc II Part VI

* * *

“I heard about your friend.” Niall waited until she was in the classroom and she’d put her bag down before he spoke. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”

Iva let her fingers clench on the strap of her bag before she gathered her composure. “Thank you, Niall, but that’s not necessary. Anders did what he thought necessary, as will I.” She looked up at him. “Right now, I would very much like to pretend nothing happened and just practice.”

“As the lady commands,” Niall said. “I was thinking we might try some hexes today.”

They were maybe half an hour into the lesson, and Iva had been unable to cast even the simplest vulnerability hex - something she’d been able to do pretty much as soon as she’d started studying entropy. Every time she pulled mana to cast, she imagined Anders lying on his cot in his cell, face down and shaking, and she lost all concentration. After the twenty-seven failed attempt, she shook her head and slumped until she was sitting on a table. “This is hopeless and a waste of time. Sorry, Niall.”

“Hey, don’t worry about it.” He sat down on the table next to her. Iva stared at her hands. “I imagine you’re concerned for your friend.” Iva nodded, not trusting the lump in her throat enough to speak. “Would you like to talk about it?”

“No!” Her voice came out sounding almost like a sob.

“Alright,” Niall said softly. Iva closed her eyes and concentrated on getting her breathing back to normal. “What do you need of me?”

“Can we just- sit for a minute? I could use the quiet.”

“Of course.” Niall reached over and pulled her arm until her head was resting on his shoulder. It was a testament to how distraught she was that Iva didn’t even blush at the closeness or familiarity of the action.

Iva breathed in 1-2-3. Iva breathed out 1-2-3. By the time her cheek began to warm where it was pressed against Niall’s arm, Iva felt like she could keep her composure again. She sat up again and glanced up at Niall. He was watching her, and the quiet concern made her heart swell. “Thank you,” she said.

“Any time,” he replied, and Iva had no doubt that he meant it. “Ready to try again?”

She stood without prompting, reaching for her mana. “Yes.”

* * *

There were several advantages to being quiet and unobtrusive, tucking herself beside bookshelves and in niches, remaining in the shadows. A holdover from her time training as a rogue surely; Iva found that people hardly noticed her as long as she was quiet and so she often overheard the most useful information by way of gossip. She was leaning against a pillar with Matrin’s _Mana and the Arcane_ when two mages stepped over to an alcove shielded by a conveniently placed statue. She didn’t try to peek out them and instead just kept her back against the pillar to listen in.

“... lucky bastard gets to leave this dump in the ass-end of Ferelden.”

“Kirkwall’s not a good place to be a mage, you know.”

“Like he’s gonna do anything to get on the Knight-Commander’s bad side. The man looks like the poster child for good mage behavior.” A scoff. “Good riddance, I say. He’s got to be the only mage who could get away with so obviously dabbling with an apprentice.”

“Now, that’s not fair. He’s not the only mage here who likes ‘em a little younger. Karl’s a decent man.”

Karl. They were talking about Karl Thekla. Karl who taught the youngest apprentices and was generally a decent, warm human being. Anders’ Karl. Iva squeezed her eyes shut. Maker, someone would have to tell Anders. She didn’t feel like going back down to the cells - if she never had to go down there again, she’d feel like the luckiest woman alive - but neither would she let her own discomfort keep her from doing her duty to her friends. She slipped away from the pillar and padded her way down the hall. Better to get it over with now than wait and let her worry fester.

She was almost to the door to the basement when Wynne stepped into her path. “Senior Enchanter.” Iva forced a congenial smile onto her face and smothered her impatience. “What a pleasant surprise.”

Wynne’s gaze was sharp. “Don’t pretend with me, dear. It’s unbecoming for both of us.”

“I-” Iva began, and then sighed. What was the use of the charade if Wynne was just going to see through it. “Yes, Senior Enchanter.”

“You’re on your way to see my young scamp of a student, aren’t you?”

“Yes ma’am.”

“This wouldn’t have anything to do with the impending departure of any other mages, would it?”

There was no right answer. A lack of reaction would be just as telling as a reaction. Iva nodded, and Wynne gave a soft hum of disapproval. “Enchanter Wynne, please. Anders deserves to know. If nothing else, they truly are friends.”

For a moment it seemed like Wynne wouldn’t let her pass, but as the older mage held Iva’s gaze something in her own softened. “Very well. I remember what it was like to be young and with little discretion, once.” She stepped aside. “I can’t say I approve, but you are right. He deserves to know.”

Iva tried to imagine what Wynne would have been like when she was young. She couldn’t imagine a Wynne without discretion - a Wynne who would sneak around with others for secret rendezvous. That was unfair, though. Wynne was just as human as the rest of them. She realized she’d just been staring at the older mage when Wynne cleared her throat. “Sorry. Thank you, Wynne.”

Maybe calling her by just her name startled Wynne, because she tipped her head before giving Iva a sad smile. “Nonsense, my dear. Do what you must.”

Right. Iva squared her shoulders and marched toward the basement. This was going to be unpleasant, but she would do what she must.

* * *

Several days after finding out about Karl - and boy, had Anders taken _that_ badly - Iva skipped breakfast and made her way to the library. Nobody would be in there yet, and she'd been getting weird looks as of late because of her association with 'that mage that kept trying to escape.' Nobody had any idea how Anders had snuck past the templars guarding him when someone came to empty his chamberpot, but he'd almost made it to the front doors before being caught. So he'd tried to escape again, had been put in the cells again, and Iva was getting weird looks. At least the books didn't judge her. It took Iva a moment after Finn settled down next to her in the library to realize that anything was different. His robes were different. They weren’t apprentice robes anymore. “You’re Harrowed!”

She looked up at his face; his attention hadn’t even shifted from his book. “Yes.”

“Finn!” Iva was torn between pride and fond annoyance. “You’re supposed to tell people this kind of thing. Celebrate and stuff!”

“You noticed, didn’t you?” She could see the smile at the corner of his mouth.

“Not the point, asshole.”

Finn shrugged, still not looking up. “All my stuff had been moved for me by the time I was done. The First Enchanter said I could spend the rest of the day how I wanted, so I decided to come read. I figured you’d be here anyway.”

That he didn’t go to find Anders because Anders was still under lockdown was left unsaid between them. Iva shook her head and returned to her own book. “Congratulations, Finn.”

* * *

Iva knocked on the doorframe. Finn looked up from the paper in his hands. “Iva. I didn’t think you’d get my message so soon.”

“Xaria seemed to think there was something exciting going on,” Iva replied, grinning. “She may have hurried just to see what rumors might be sparking along.”

Finn shook his head. “This isn’t going to help any rumors about us, that’s for sure.”

“What’s not?”

Finn turned toward his desk and set the letter down to open a long, large box. The stave he pulled out of it was beautiful - Iva was a little envious from the moment she saw it. “White steel,” he explained, holding it out for her to examine more closely. “I’ve named her Vera.”

“That’s beautiful, Finn.” Iva couldn’t help the breathy reverence of her voice. It was truly a magnificent stave. “But I… don’t know how this would be fueling rumors. Unless you’re leaving me for Vera,” she added with a snicker.

Finn turned back to set his new stave down, and took his old staff from where it leaned against the desk to hand it to her.

Iva took the staff with wide eyes. “Finn…?”

“It’s called Heaven’s Wrath,” he explained. Iva could feel the tingle of energy under the wood; if she’d remembered Finn practicing with it correctly, it was an electric stave. Finn cleared his throat, cheeks pinking. “I thought you could have it.”

Iva nearly dropped the staff in shock, even though she’d almost been expecting the words. “Me?” She swallowed. “Not Anders? You’ve known him longer, and-”

“You’re not gonna get the staff broken or confiscated on some ridiculous escape attempt.” Finn reached out and patted the stave almost fondly. “And just because I’ve known him longer doesn’t make you any less my friend.”

Iva clutched the staff to her like it was a lifeline. “Thank you.”

* * *

“So.” Iva looked up from her trunk. Cera was leaning against the bedpost, arms crossed and eyes focused on Iva. “Have you ever kissed anyone?”

Iva let the lid of her trunk fall with a thump. Of anything she thought Cera might ask her, that wasn’t on the list. “Why are you asking?”

“I have a bet with Xaria.” Of course she did. Iva could have groaned in frustration, but she didn’t. Cera waited patiently by the bed.

Eventually, Iva sighed. “I’ll tell you, but only if you’ll tell me which side of the bet you’re on.”

“Wouldn’t that defeat the purpose of the bet? Or wouldn’t you lie to me to let Xaria win?”

Iva shrugged. “Why would I do that? I don’t dislike you, Cera. You’re usually the one not speaking to me.”

“You…” Cera frowned. “You just seemed closer to Xaria.” It was true, Iva was closer to Xaria. But at least Cera had out and asked her rather than waiting and sneaking around to find out who’d won. Iva waited silently until Cera rolled her eyes. “Fine. I bet that you had. Xaria bet that you hadn’t.”

“And what are you betting for?”

Cera shifted from foot to foot. “Eadric got some chocolates sneaked in for the winner.”

Chocolates… Iva hadn’t had chocolates since her father’s last trip to Antiva. “And you’ll share them with me?” She took a step toward the other girl.

“So, that means you’ve-” Iva cut off Cera’s question with gentle but insistent lips. Cera gasped, just a little, before reaching up to guide Iva’s movement. Iva was grateful for the direction, in light of her own inexperience.

When she and Cera broke apart, she grinned. “Now I have.”

Cera frowned at her for a minute. Finally, she sighed. “That was terrible. You’re gonna need someone to teach you how to kiss better.”

“You volunteering?” Iva teased, waggling her eyebrows.

She sobered a little, grin softening to a smile, when Cera shrugged. “We’ll see after I get some of those chocolates.”


End file.
